[The sight of this human with his hands up, as if Fizz posed any threat whatsoever, might be amusing if the situation weren't so overwhelmingly terrifying. He's no fighter, and the closest thing he has on him to a weapon, other than his natural fangs and tail, is an airhorn or some juggling balls.
Not helpful.
And neither is the answer given. There's a name, which means nothing, and a place... which also means nothing. Shit. Fuck shit fuck. He had been hoping against hope that the portal had misfired so badly that he was somehow still somewhere in Hell, or at least somewhere in the living world close to where he was meant to end up. But he's never heard of literally any of those places-- Toussaint? Is that a city? A town? A country?
Fizz can feel his breathing coming in too short pants, his heart pounding a million miles a second, as anxiety floods him like a tidal wave. His tail stops even the pretence of threatening behaviour, instinct bringing it to wrap tightly around himself in a gesture of fear.]
Fuck.
[A succinct agreement to that supposition.
Shit. Shit. Breathe, Fizz, don't panic. Now is not the time for a panic attack, the situation is much too dangerous for that. Pretend this is a performance, this is a stage, and Mammon is watching-- time to pull on the game face and be perfect.
He swallows hard, struggling to maintain a neutral expression and keep his thoughts in order.]
Uh-- I mean, no. You're right, I don't know where that is.
no subject
Not helpful.
And neither is the answer given. There's a name, which means nothing, and a place... which also means nothing. Shit. Fuck shit fuck. He had been hoping against hope that the portal had misfired so badly that he was somehow still somewhere in Hell, or at least somewhere in the living world close to where he was meant to end up. But he's never heard of literally any of those places-- Toussaint? Is that a city? A town? A country?
Fizz can feel his breathing coming in too short pants, his heart pounding a million miles a second, as anxiety floods him like a tidal wave. His tail stops even the pretence of threatening behaviour, instinct bringing it to wrap tightly around himself in a gesture of fear.]
Fuck.
[A succinct agreement to that supposition.
Shit. Shit. Breathe, Fizz, don't panic. Now is not the time for a panic attack, the situation is much too dangerous for that. Pretend this is a performance, this is a stage, and Mammon is watching-- time to pull on the game face and be perfect.
He swallows hard, struggling to maintain a neutral expression and keep his thoughts in order.]
Uh-- I mean, no. You're right, I don't know where that is.